


with departures (there is no end)

by crimsoncomradeposts



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Dark, Brainwashing, Cults, Dubious Consent, F/M, Loss, Loss of Parent(s), Mental Abuse, Oral Sex, Religious Cults, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Temporary Character Death, Vaginal Sex, dark themes, dark!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25957477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Summary: Please note that this fic is intended to be dark. I realize that this is out of the realm of Clyde's typical/canon behavior, hence why I urge you to read the tags before you opt to read the story.As a quick note, I’ve marked this fic with the DubCon warning as I feel like since the reader is essentially ‘brainwashed’ into believing they belong in this cult with Clyde that the tag is appropriate. Nothing actually happens as far as Clyde forcing the reader into anything, but I just wanted to make that clear for anyone intending to read.--------Check outthis amazing drawingof Clyde from sacklersdoll over on tumblr. I can't get over how good it is!
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You, Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this fic is intended to be dark. I realize that this is out of the realm of Clyde's typical/canon behavior, hence why I urge you to read the tags before you opt to read the story.
> 
> As a quick note, I’ve marked this fic with the DubCon warning as I feel like since the reader is essentially ‘brainwashed’ into believing they belong in this cult with Clyde that the tag is appropriate. Nothing actually happens as far as Clyde forcing the reader into anything, but I just wanted to make that clear for anyone intending to read.
> 
> \--------
> 
> Check out [this amazing drawing](https://sacklersdoll.tumblr.com/post/627103549522870272/cult-leader-clyde-totally-inspired-by) of Clyde from sacklersdoll over on tumblr. I can't get over how good it is!

Smooth, soft skin ripples beneath the glide of a pair of lips, those same lips stretching into a smile as a tender kiss is placed just at the edge of taught muscle covering the expanse of a rib cage. A hum of appreciation sounds and, at first, you’re unsure if the noise comes from your own mouth until a large hand sweeps across the back of your head, fingers caressing your scalp. The trajectory of your mouth moves lower and lower until soft skin gives way to coarse black hair that begins just south of his navel. Clyde hums again, and out of your periphery, you can see the way his cock twitches and strains beneath the cover of the white bed sheet. Your face turns to nuzzle your cheek and the side of your nose against the thatch of hair that’s exposed near the base of his cock, uncovered from the sheet. A deep breath in allows you to inhale the musky scent of him as his cock jumps a second time.

This time, the hum of appreciation is yours.

The sheet falls away from his body when you sit up, the linen slipping down your own all the same, leaving the two of you bared to one another. Clyde’s eyes unabashedly rake up and down your form, taking in the sight of you with a ravenous gaze.

“C’mere, sunflower,” he says, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

You know what he wants; it’s the same thing he always demands when the two of you are like this, tangled up in the sheets together. Sliding up the length of his body, you move to straddle him, your thighs framing his head. Clyde settles his left arm against your leg whilst his right hand grasps your thigh, fingers splayed against the skin. Instinctively, you reach for the headboard in front of you when you feel a puff of warm air against your already wet cunt.

Clyde’s face tilts up just enough to get the perfect angle, his tongue swiping lazily up and down along your lips. Your head tips back as you exhale a sigh, the fingers wrapped around the rungs of the headboard tightening until the skin grows taught over your knuckles. The brush of his wiry facial hair only heightens the sensation when it grazes the insides of your thighs, his tongue still working in languid motions just as his nose bumps up against your clit. A sharp cry escapes you involuntarily, and Clyde’s hand immediately tightens against your leg while one of your own drops down to card your fingers through the silky tresses of his inky hair.

Slowly, your hips begin to roll over his face, grinding yourself down onto both his tongue and nose, jaw slack and head remaining tilted back as you release a string of moans out into the room. You’ve heard all the things that people have said about him; how Clyde’s holy, divine even. The messiah reincarnate, some have even gone so far as to say, given everything that he’s been through. It’s in moments like this that you think there’s no possible way they could be wrong. Not when his tongue is making you tremble above him that way that you are, thighs tightening around his head as he works you closer and closer to your release.

Another loud cry tumbles from your lips when Clyde slips his tongue as deep as he can into the depths of your cunt, his nose nudging your clit again to send you over the precipice. He exhales a groan when he’s met with a wet warmth against his tongue, eagerly lapping up every last drop until it’s too much and you’re overstimulated.

Your hand slides off of the headboard, the other releasing its hold on his hair to drop down onto the mattress beside him. Taking a moment to just _breathe_ , you watch as dust particles dance through the light of a new morning that pours in through the sheer curtains.

Your view is soon blocked by the sight of Clyde shifting to hover over you, keeping his weight off of you by leaning on his left forearm. His mouth and goatee shine with your arousal, and when you lift your head just enough to trace the edges of his goatee with your tongue, your hand dips down between the two of you. Your index finger grazes along his lower stomach, collecting the precum that’s been deposited there while he’d had his face buried between your thighs. He watches with wide, wondrous eyes as you lie your head back on the pillow and bring your finger to your mouth, sucking the salty taste clean off.

The sudden twitch of his cock can be felt against your own stomach, and it leaves a small sticky spot there as well. He shifts himself lower, ducking his head down to suck at the skin along your neck, seeking to purple it in a way that will mark you as his for all to see. His knees push your legs to open further, widening them to accommodate his broad figure while his hand reaches down between you to glide the head of his cock along your cunt. The move elicits a shudder from you, his eyes darkening considerably at the response you give him when he pulls back to look down at you. It’s the only time you get to see him like this: near feral, ravenous for you in a way that he is for no other.

He hesitates, his movements halting as he leaves the head of his cock pressed up against you, a small trickle of cum seeping out from the slit to smear against your cunt. Clyde reaches for your hand, pulling your finger from your mouth to turn and expose your wrist to him, bending down to press a kiss to the space there. “Talk t’me, sunflower. Tell me what y’need.”

Your lips part, a soft breath exhaling as you watch him nudge his nose along your wrist now. “You.” The word is whispered just barely loud enough for Clyde to hear. “I just want you. Only you.”

Clyde releases his hold on your wrist, letting you place your hand wherever you see fit while he leans down to press his lips to yours, simultaneously thrusting his hips towards your own to sink his cock deep, deep into your tight, warm cunt. A gasp sounds, your lips parting against his when the sound escapes you, one hand reaching up to grasp at his hair while the other holds onto his shoulder. His movements are slow, sensual, wanting nothing more than to draw out the time that he spends in your tight grip, buried home in your warmth. Heavy, panted breaths fill the space, intermingling with moans, groans, and the occasional grunt.

The muscles of his shoulder flex beneath the grasp of your hand, his own holding onto your hip to pull you down towards him to meet each of his thrusts. The kissing has long since ceased, your lips merely pressed against one another’s, both parted to breathe in one another, tongues moving languidly along each other as Clyde moves above you.

It’s strange, funny, even—that in these private moments Clyde seems to be worshiping _you_ , when it should be you who worships him like all other members of the congregation. But you aren’t like them. Clyde’s said as much. You aren’t like the others at all. You’re something more, something special; worthy of his praises and devotions. It’s you he worships to when everyone else looks to him for guidance.

The hand in his hair slides away to slip between you once more, fingers moving quickly against your clit, working in tandem with Clyde to bring you closer to your climax. Your back arches, lips parting from his as your head digs back into the pillow, a drawn out moan floating out into the room when your orgasm finally, finally washes over you.

Clyde grunts softly when he lowers his head to leave more marks along the column of your throat, the constriction of your cunt pushing him dangerously close to his own release. He thrusts a little faster, a little harder now, your body bouncing lightly against the mattress with each movement. It isn’t long that his hips stutter and a loud groan is exhaled against your neck as he pushes into you one final time, his cock pulsing when he empties himself within you.

Your arms encircle him when he lowers his body down onto your own, the weight of him pressing you down into the mattress. Gently, you sweep your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, once again watching the dust particles dance across the room while his heart beats erratically against your own.

The familiar scratch of his goatee can be felt against your neck when he turns his head to catch his breath. It’s silent for a beat before he speaks.

“You’re special t’me, sunflower, y’know that, right?”

You hum, one hand still toying with his hair while the other ghosts the tips of your fingers along his upper back. “You’re special to me too, you know. Special to all of us.”

“I don’t,” he huffs, “I’m not wantin’ t’bring the congregation into this right now. I’m talkin’ about you.”

“‘M’sorry,” you whisper in response.

Clyde responds by turning his head to press a kiss to your clavicle. “I meant what I said. You’re more special than you know. More precious than anythin’ I ever owned.” He lifts his head, this time to capture your lips with his own. “Y’might not see it now, but y’will soon enough.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Eight Months Ago**

“Got my ass handed to me yesterday by Bobby Jo.”

The warm breeze of an early Autumn wafts in through the open windows of the Pontiac Grand, tousling Clyde’s hair about, strands whipping about haphazardly while he drives through the streets of Danville. A low rumble of amusement emanates from deep within his chest at the image that comes to mind; it’s one that never used to be comical, not until the two have reached the point that they have now. It was all heated verbal blows and fights, but now all ever Jimmy talks about is the sass that he gets, much like he is now.

“Yeah?” Clyde looks over to his brother, prosthetic lying against the open space of the door where the window’s retracted, hair rustling against his left ear in the breeze. “What kind’a trouble’d y’go ‘n’ get yourself into now?”

A huff of air is expelled through Jimmy’s nose when he takes a moment to bite into the shell of a sunflower seed, working it in his mouth to get the seed out, his head soon turning to spit the shell out of the car and onto the road that passes by beneath them. “Let Mellie drive around with Sadie.”

Clyde hums in acknowledgement of Jimmy’s response, his gaze now focused on the road while he drives. “Well, y’do know what happened the last time y’let that happen.”

“So she went a little over the speed limit — ”

“A little?!”

“ — but that don’t mean that she shouldn’t be in a car with Mellie ever again! It was one time ‘n’ Mellie swore up ‘n’ down that she wouldn’t ever pull somethin’ like that again. Besides, Sadie’s mine too, I should get some say in who she can and can’t be around.”

Clyde snorts at his brother’s statement, his head shaking as a comfortable silence settles between them. They drive on until they enter the town’s main drag, the two of them nearly to the salon where Mellie works. “Y’know,” Clyde starts, his eyes still on the road, “Mellie wouldn’t ever put Sadie in harm’s way. She treats that girl like she was her own.”

More silence stretches on, and for a moment, the thought crosses Clyde’s mind that Jimmy’s still upset at the situation, and in turn, annoyed with him for not agreeing with his take on things. “Ah, hell, Jimmy. Y’ain’t got’a be like that now.”

Clyde’s head turns to look over at the passenger seat only to find it empty, save for the packet of opened sunflower seeds, the portion that’s torn open flapping in the breeze that passes through the car. For a fleeting moment, Clyde thinks that he may be seeing things, that surely there’s no way for Jimmy to have up and disappeared. It’s impossible. He would have heard him open up the door, surely.

“Jimmy?” Confusion laces his voice as his gaze slides up to the rear-view mirror, checking the road that’s passed them to ensure that Jimmy isn’t lying out there hurt or worse.

But there’s nothing.

No body.

No Jimmy.

Nothing.

There’s nothing until suddenly, there’s screaming.

The shrill sound nearby barrels into the silence like a wrecking ball, breaking through Clyde’s thoughts and shattering the confusion that’s taken root in his mind. His gaze snaps down away from the rear-view mirror to look back to the road, but by then it’s too late. He’s veered too far off, going too fast; even as his foot slams down onto the brake, the car skids quickly towards a storefront, stopping only once it’s slammed into the brick exterior in a crunch of metal and glass.

\--------------------

Across town, a wheel of the shopping cart you push down the aisle squeaks and groans, continually getting stuck on some seemingly invisible force. Sighing in exasperation with the sound, you turn your head to look over at your mother who simply gives you a shrug as if to say ‘I told you to get another cart’. Your eyes roll and she smiles, laughing softly to herself while you reach for a box of food from one of the shelves, dropping it down into the cart.

The cart’s wheel sticks again, squeaking with a vengeance when you round the end cap of the aisle to make your way down into the frozen section, perusing the offerings that lie inside the tall freezers. “What do you think sounds better,” you ask your mother as you stop your cart and pull open one of the freezer doors, “tortilla casserole or tamale verde?”

You wait a beat for a response, eyes fixated on the two options, but when you’re met with silence, you peek your head out from behind the door. “Mom?”

One quick sweep of your gaze down the aisle informs you that there’s no one else in the immediate area. Exhaling another sigh, you back away and let the freezer door slam shut, hands moving to grip the cart’s handle in order to retrace your steps, certain that you’ll find her back where you left her in the other aisle.

Turning the corner your steps slow to a halt, brows creasing in confusion when you find that this aisle is empty as well. Taking a moment, one hand still on the cart’s handle, you pivot on the balls of your feet and let your eyes wander around the parts of the store that you can see from this vantage point. “Mom,” you call out again, a little louder this time, listening for a response but receiving nothing in return.

Off in the near distance, down one of the neighboring aisle, you can hear the crying of a small child. “Momma,” the child cries.

Abandoning your cart, you step out into one of the bisecting walkways, eyes still scanning your surroundings.

“Honey?!” This voice comes from your left, opposite of where you’d just heard the child who’s crying harder now, the sound more like a wail. This new voice is unfamiliar, certainly not belonging to your mother. But still, you walk briskly towards the sound until you come face to face with someone who looks every bit as confused as you feel.

“Did you see a man, about this tall,” asks the woman, using her hand to show the height of the man she’s looking for.

You shake your head, still stunned. “No. Have you seen a woman?” You describe your mother, but like you, the woman hasn’t seen who you’re looking for. The sobbing child screams, now hysterical with the sudden loss of his mother, but not wanting to accept the loss of your own, you make your way to the front of the store towards the check out area. There’s only one cashier, and when you draw closer, you can see that their body is practically vibrating with fear and a lack of understanding. Their gaze lifts to meet your own and you’re certain that the two of you are exchanging the same look just as you’d done moments prior with the woman in the other aisle.

“What’s happening,” they whisper. You don’t have the words; how could you possibly respond when you aren’t even sure what’s happening yourself? Again, your head shakes, this time as you back-peddle towards the grocery store’s entrance. The last thing that you hear as you exit the store is the screaming of the orphaned child.

\--------------------

Just down the road in the outskirts of town, one of the few king sized beds in the Coal River Inn groans and creaks beneath the weight of Flip’s thrusts. The nameless woman beneath him stares up at the ceiling in apathy, though Flip can’t bring himself to care; normally he prides himself in his bedside manner, knows that he can get a woman off in all sorts of ways and typically does so. But today is about him and his needs, he doesn’t care about the woman he’d met earlier at the bar, doesn’t care whether she gets off or whether she doesn’t. All he cares about is getting his mind off his latest case.

His eyes are closed and he focuses solely on the sounds of the springs of the mattress squeaking in protest of his movements along with the steady tap, tap, tap of the wood headboard against the motel room wall. If he’s being honest with himself, he knows he’s slept with better; she’s just lying there, taking all that he gives her without so much as a moan, the only sound that comes out of her is the occasional grunt when he thrusts a little too hard.

Flip’s eyes screw closed tighter once he finally, finally teeters on the edge of his release. He’s so close now, just a few more good thrusts.

His hips piston forward once, twice, and then…

And then he feels nothing.

There’s a sudden coolness where the warmth of a body once laid bare beneath him, and when he follows through with the third thrust, he’s met with nothing but air. His eyes open, body stilling as he glances down to empty sheets and a bed that now only contains himself.

Abruptly, he sits upright, his cock throbbing angrily at the sudden loss of sensation. Still panting, he glances around the room, brows furrowed, the crease between them deepening further when he spots two sets of clothes on the floor...the very ones he and the woman had discarded upon their arrival to the motel room.

At a loss, he rises up from his spot on the bed and does what he feels to be the logical thing: check the bathroom. Bare feet pad across the rough, worn down carpet that covers the room until it gives way to the tile of the bathroom. Stepping inside, he gives a visual sweep. The shower curtain is peeled back, exposing an empty tub, and given the small space, there is nowhere else for her to have gone. She has, by all intents and purposes, vanished.

\--------------------

A set of double metal doors pushes open just as a team of medical professionals wheels Clyde down the brightly lit hallway of Boone Memorial Hospital. He’s unconscious atop the gurney, his large frame almost too big for it when he’s taken directly back to one of the hospital’s operating rooms. Clyde’s pulse is weak, and one of the nurses relays the EMT’s message about the blood loss at the scene of the accident.

It’s a flurry of machines, tubes, needles, and voices and Clyde is unaware of it all, seesawing on the edge of life and death.

They do all that they can, try everything and then some, but even after attempting to revive him through multiple flatlines, it all becomes too much for his broken body.

Clyde flatlines for the third and final time at 4:57 PM.

\--------------------

The door to your home flies open, banging against the wall as you push your way inside, making a beeline for the landline. Picking up the receiver, you press it to your ear and dial your parents’ home phone. It rings and rings and rings, the sound seemingly going on for an eternity before it all becomes too much. Slamming down the receiver into the hook to silence it, you take a moment and lift shaky hands up to cover your face.

“Think. Think. C’mon, think.”

She wasn’t at the grocery store. Neither she nor your father are picking up.

“Hospitals,” you whisper to yourself, the word muffled against your hands. “Try the hospitals.”

Your first call is to Boone Memorial, the closest and most obvious choice. But like with your parents’ home phone, this too rings and rings, though just when you’re on the precipice of giving up hope, the line makes a connection.

“Boone Memorial.”

“Hi. Yes, I’m looking for my mother, I — ”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re absolutely swamped with everything that’s going on. If you’re looking for someone, your best bet is to come on down.”

There is no proper goodbye, not thank you’s. There is only the slamming of the receiver into the cradle before you’re darting off again, exiting the home to make your way back to your car.

You hadn’t had a single moment to absorb the greater picture earlier, and it isn’t until now that you realize just how much bigger the full picture is. Cars are abandoned, one even lies wrecked in a building in the center of town; there are people crying, screaming for loved ones in the streets, and off in the distance, a billowing cloud of black smoke rises skyward.

It’s nearly 6:00 PM when you reach the hospital, throwing the car into park and exiting the vehicle, hastily making your way towards the front door.

You step past the threshold of the hospital’s emergency room entrance at 6:01, the exact time that Clyde’s cooling body jerks to life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Seven Months Ago**

_ ‘Today marks the one month anniversary of the Departure; so many of us still struggle to come to terms with the day’s events and the loss of loved ones all over the globe. Some groups are claiming this to be the beginning of the End Times, the ‘Reckoning’ as they’ve come to say—’ _

The news anchor displayed so prominently on the television screen continues with her story, droning on and on about what events are taking place in cities across the planet to mark such a somber day. You’ve long since stopped listening, allowing the words to blur from both your mind and ears prior to the channel suddenly switching before you courtesy of the bartender who’s maintained a vigilant watch over you since your arrival. Not that it would have been a difficult task, of course, considering that the place is empty save for the two of you and another lonely, pathetic soul at the end of the bar. Your gaze drifts downward to the small glass tumbler in your hand and the amber liquid that swirls within it.

“How many?” The deep baritone voice is a stark contrast to the program displayed on the television.

Your attention snaps up to the man who stands directly opposite you on the other side of the counter and you take a moment to assess him. He is tall, broad, short, slicked back hair and a freshly shaven face; his arms, which are crossed in front of his chest, are covered in colorful tattoos.

There is a long stretch of silence that follows his question, and for a moment, you wonder if you even should divulge such information. Then again, it’s not as if it’s some grand secret. Everyone in this town, in this world, has lost someone. But it’s hard for you to admit your loss, for the last month it has been near impossible, because you have lost—

“Everyone,” says the man seated at the end of the bar.

Your head swivels so abruptly to look to your right that you wince at the pinch that emanates from the side of your neck as a result of the movement. Inadvertently, your hand tightens its hold on the glass as silence once again fills the space. He’s looking at you now, with his sad hazel eyes. You take a moment to take in the remainder of his features: a pouty mouth that is framed by a raven-colored goatee, long locks that spill clear down to his shoulders and a broad frame that outcompetes even the man behind the bar, and then there is the prosthetic...

“Ain’t that right,” he asks, his tone softer now, almost as if doing so for your own benefit; to be kinder, more respectful of the people you’d lost.

You nod, simultaneously swallowing down the lump that’s formed in your throat. For a moment you don’t think it possible to give any sort of response, but when you manage to do so, it is a single word, spoken so softly and with so much emotion. “Yes,” you whisper.

The man with the understanding, yet forlorn look manages an all too fleeting smile as he nods in return. You know then that he understands because he, too, has lost everyone.

**Now**

In the depths of the wooded mountains that surround Danville, just off Hopkins Branch, sits an inconspicuous plot of land. Tonight, at the heart of the property, is a bonfire large enough to light up the immediate vicinity. The flames flicker, casting shadows across the faces of the congregation as Clyde stands before everyone donned in the familiar white linen attire he’s become so fond of. A hush has fallen over the crowd as they look to the man who now leads them, though Clyde’s eyes fall to where you sit at the front of the congregation. He gifts you with a fleeting smile, one meant only for you; the expression is so expeditious that anyone else would have missed it,  _ but not you _ .

Earlier in the evening, there’d been an excited buzz about the group. Talks of a soon to be new member were whispered throughout the congregation, but neither you nor any of the other members had come to see just who it was that would be joining you until now.

“I know this ain’t our usual gatherin’ day, but as I know you’ve already heard, we’ve got ourselves a new member’a the congregation ‘n’ I thought it was high time y’met ‘im.” A self-satisfied smile stretches across Clyde’s face as he sweeps his gaze over the crowd. In turn, you, yourself cannot help but smile back up at him. “Brother, if you’d be so kind as t’join me up here.”

Clyde motions with his right hand towards the crowd, and immediately, the silence is broken by murmurs and whispers that float amongst the group. Heads turn, and you are certainly no exception as you also allow your curiosity to get the better of you, wanting to have a look for yourself before this supposed new member makes their way to the front.

From the back of the group emerges a towering figure who, dare you admit, appears to be every bit as expansive as Clyde. Though his hair is shorter than Clyde’s, he too sports a goatee. You watch with renewed interest as the man strides confidently down the aisle that splits the rows of the congregation until everyone is once again faced front and he takes his place at Clyde’s side.

“Brothers ‘n’ sisters,” Clyde exclaims, his voice booming throughout the immediate area. “This here is Jason, the newest member of our flock.” The smile that’d formed earlier now stretches further until Clyde is grinning proudly, his teeth bared as he claps his hand atop Flip’s shoulder. “Like all of you, he’s lost someone ‘n’ he’s hopin’ to find a new meanin’ in life, startin’ here with us.”

There are a few hoots and hollers that sound along with the intermittent clap, but all of the noise seems to fade into the background when Flip’s gaze lands upon you. The corners of his mouth curl slightly in the beginnings of a smile, and involuntarily, your breath catches in your throat at the sudden attention. Only when you feel your own smile beginning to form do you avert your gaze to save yourself the trouble.

No, this won’t do. This won’t do at all.

When you look back, it is not at the newcomer, but at Clyde who, as it happens, has already been watching you. Your heart leaps in your chest, and you offer him a smile, an expression that he does not return. Instead, he focuses his attention elsewhere, continuing to build up the crowd with words of praise and promises that, for once, you cannot bring yourself to listen to, that is, until...

Movement to your right pulls you from your thoughts and when you look over, you find that Jason has taken a seat in the empty space beside you. This time there are no smiles or pleasantries exchanged, and almost immediately, your gaze snaps back to where Clyde remains, still standing in front of everyone.

“I know I’ve made many’a promises ‘n’ claims since y’all have been kind enough to join me on this journey. Some of y’have witnessed the miracle of my rebirth with your own eyes,” he says, eyes darting to a woman nearby—the very one who’d been in the morgue when he’d awoken from his death state. “But tomorrow I would like t’show the rest of y’that miracle so that everyone can bear witness.”

Soft gasps ripple throughout the crowd, the sounds followed up by yet more murmuring.

Clyde’s gaze finds yours once again, and this time he _does_ smile. “Tomorrow evening we will reconvene at the river,” he says matter-of-factly. “Let the last of any doubts be washed away.”


End file.
